Andromeda Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
by Midnight-silver-moon-goddess
Summary: Andromeda Potter had always been strange. With unnatural and magical things happening around her, talking to fishes and horses were as ordinary as having a glass of water.But on her eleventh birthday, she is met face to face with a new world full of magic. Will Andy survive the destiny she is about to encounter? Will Andromeda uncover the secret of her biological dad? Fem Harry.
1. Full Summary and disclaimer

I'm really sorry about the original Sorcerer's Stone, somehow, it had been deleted. :(

Andromeda Potter had always been strange. With unnatural and magical things happening around her, talking to fishes and horses were as ordinary as having a glass of water. She had never imagined that she'll ever have a family. As far as she knew, the horrible Dursleys were the only relations of hers alive. But on her eleventh birthday, she is met face to face with a new world full of magic that could change her whole life around. Literally. Will Andromeda survive the secrets and the destiny she is about to encounter at Hogwarts? Will she able to uncover the secrets of her biological father with a glowing bronze trident?

I DO NOT own anything

All rights go to J.K Rowling, the amazing author of Harry Potter, and the entire magical world.

(And to Rick Riodern, the awesome author of Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Heroes of Olympus and the modern demigod world for future reference.)

Only my OC, Andromeda Potter - fem Harry Potter and a daughter of Poseidon- and the plot belongs to me.

Love, Magic and demigods,

Catarina Persephone Fairchild-herondale-Carstairs. Aka Midnight-silver-moon-goddess


	2. Character Profile: Andromeda Potter

_Andromeda Lillie-Rose Potter-Black (Evans)_

Daughter of Poseidon, legacy of Hecate, Aphrodite/Venus, Mercury/Hermes and Athena, Champion of Thanatos.

Gender: Girl/Female

Birth-date: 31st of July

Status: Demigod/Half-Blood. Pure-blood Witch. (Because Poseidon is a Greek deity, counts as pure-blood. And Lily is daughter of Hecate, goddess of Magic.)

Head/Lady of the most Ancient and Noble/Dark houses of Potter and Black

Ladyship: Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Peverell, Le-fay

Relationships: Jason Grace, Son of Jupiter, praetor of Twelfth Region Fulminata.

Parents: Mother and step-father – dead. Father: immortal Greek deity

Mother: Lily Evans. Ravenclaw, Slytherin squib family. Pure-blood. Daughter of Hecate and granddaughter of Athena.

Father: Poseidon, God of the Seas, Storms, Earthquakes and horses. King of Atlantis. The Earthshaker. The Stormbrigner.

Step-Father: James Potter. Pure-blood Potter. Son of Mercury, grandson of Aphrodite and Hecate. (Blood Related)

God-Father: Sirius Black. Pure-blood Black. Son of Athena, grandson of Hermes, Venus and Hecate. (Blood Related)

Sibling: Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, half-brother.

Triton, son of Poseidon and Amphitrite, heir to the throne of Atlantis.

Tyson, son of Poseidon, Cyclops.

Godly Powers: Very Powerful

Poseidon: Able to control water (Sea), able to conjure up storms (Hurricanes), Create Earthquakes. Able to talk Horse and fishes, hippocampi (most sea animals) Mist and the Flow of the Fates. Vapor/water travel.

Hecate: Very strong magic and magic core. Controlling the Mist. Seer. Can see the Person's fates (partly). Controls dream. Stands at the Crossroads. Parseltongue and Parselmagic. (Language of the Snakes)

Aphrodite/Venus: Natural Beauty- silky hair, flawless skin. A loving aura, and Charmspeak.

Mercury/Hermes: Ling skills, Fast and swift (especially Battle Reflexes), pick pocketing, able to find ways quickly. Humor, fun and pranking streak

Athena: Natural Intelligence, wisdom and battle strategy.

Appearance: Long wavy messy sea wind swept jet black hair down to waist. Lightly tanned (due to Lily being fair skinned and pale and Poseidon being naturally tanned) creamy flawless skin, with small battle scars- most unnoticeable. Soft blood red full pouty lips. Big bright sea green (with hints of Emerald) eyes that changes shades due to her emotions. Normally in a loose t-shirt, high waist shorts, fishnet stockings and knee length heeled boots or heels.

Weapons:

Wands:

Rosewood, 10 inches and a half, core of a water Phoenix and a Nereid's hair, with small Blue, green and white gems like veins and waves on the wood.

Deathstick / wand of Destiny/ Elder Wand: Elder wood, 15 inches long, Thestral tail-hair core (a tricky and dangerous substance that only wizards who mastered death can control). With very unique style with the wand carved like elder berries. The most powerful wand. (In the Wizarding World)

Thalia's Pine wood, 13 inches, core of Silvermist (Andromeda's Pegasus, twin sister of Blackjack, Percy's Pegasus.) 's tail-hair, a strand of Poseidon's hair, fresh sea salt water , celestial bronze and Andromeda's blood.(so only she could use it, even if disarmed). Dark shimmering midnight-blue, with waves engraved on it, with Celestial bronze and her blood, making it shimmer bronze-red amber. Small unnoticeable (unless you are looking for it or a related to Poseidon) Trident on the side, glowing bronze and blue.

Demigod Weapons:

(She has more weapons than most demigods because she is both Greek and Roman, so she has weapons in Celestial Bronze and Imperial Gold.)

Aquamarine water drop shaped pendent on a thin celestial bronze and rose (for her name) gold chain. The aquamarine was full of fresh salt water, fresh from his personal fountain in Atlantis, that was to heal her and there was an engraved trident and a hippocampi on the back of the pendent.

Stygian ice, Atlantic Ice and Water, celestial bronze and silver whip that looks like a bracelet so it would be easier to lash out at split second and hide from the mortal's eyes.

A Greek celestial bronze war shield in a form of a bronze and sapphire braided bracelet.

Bronze, silver and sea green diamond ring that is both a celestial bronze full size Greek sword and trident.

A Roman imperial gold war shield in a form of a gold bracelet.

Gold, silver and aquamarine hair comb that is an imperial gold sword and trident.

A dark blood red pendent that is both an imperial gold and celestial bronze full body armour.

(This is the profile of Andromeda after she found the Camp half-Blood and Camp Jupiter.)

Mackenzie Foy as young Andromeda Potter


	3. Character Profile Hermione Granger

Hermione Jean Granger

Gender: Girl/Female

Birthdate: 19 September

Status: Muggleborn witch.

Relationships: Viktor Krum, a famous Bulgarian Qudditch player – seeker, attends the Dumstrang Institute. (Fourth year)

Ronald Billius Weasly, (after the war.)

Parents: Alive

Mother: Mrs. Jean Granger, a muggle dentist. (The real name is unknown.)

Father: Mr. John Granger, a muggle dentist. (The real name unknown)

Appearance: Brown bushy hair down to her shoulder, light fair skin, soft rosy pink lips, light brown eyes. Normally in a sweater, jeans and boots.

Wands:

Vine wood, 10 3/4, with core of a dragon heartstring.

Walnut, 12 3/4, with core of a dragon heartstring. (Formally Bellatrix Lestrange's)

Emma Watson as Hermione Granger


	4. Character Profile: Ron Weasley

Ronald Billius Weasley

Gender: Boy/Male

Birthdate: 1st March

Status: Pureblood wizard

Relationships: Lavender Brown, Gryffindor. (Sixths year)

Hermione Granger, the end of the war and after.

Parents: Alive

Mother: Molly Weasley nee Prewett, pureblood witch.

Father: Arthur Weasley, pureblood wizard.

Siblings:

William 'Bill' Weasley, the oldest son, a curse breaker of Gringotts, the wizarding bank.

Charlie Weasley, the second oldest son, a dragon tamer in Romania.

Percy Weasly, the third oldest son, works of Cornelius Fudge, the former Minister of Magic.

Fred and George Weasley, the twins, owner of the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, a famous joke shop in Diagon Alley.

Ginevra 'Ginny' Weasley, younger daughter.

Appearance: Red hair, fair skin with freckles, blue eyes. Normally in a hand-me-down clothes.

Wands:

Ash wood, 12 inches, and a core of a unicorn tail hair.

Willow, 14 inches, core of a unicorn tail hair.

Chestnut 9 3/4, core of a Dragon Heartstring.

Rupert Grint as Ron Weasley

* * *

><p>Thanks you, <strong>Isali <strong>for pointing out that our dear Ron had nobody for relationships. Sorry for that.

Love, Magic and Demigods,

Catarina Persephone


	5. Prologue: The Girl Who Lived

_**Prologue: The Girl Who Lived**_

Poseidon, god of the Seas, stared at the lifeless body of his mortal lover in distress. Lily Potter _nee_ Evans, pureblood witch with her vibrant red hair and emerald eyes was gone, dead, her limp body cold on the soft pale yellow carpet. He _did _love his immortal wife, Amphitrite, but also cared deeply and still loved Lily, who he will never see again. He sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair, his other hand clutching his bronze trident. He wanted to destroy something or somebody, or rather, kill this 'Voldy Mort' guy that killed his lover.

Just when he was about to go back to his kingdom, Atlantis, a small voice was heard behind him. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Poseidon stopped short. Did he really… his unfinished question was answered by a soft small clapping and a squeal. "Daddy! Daddy!"

He whirled around, and cautiously walked towards where the sound came from. The sound came from a white crib that sat near the very colourful wall, with a mobile hanging directly over the crib on the ceiling. It was a beautiful- the mobile ,not the ceiling- with hippocampi, dolphins, fishes, lions, a stag, a wolf and a shaggy black dog, with soft soothing music

A small giggle broke him out of his trance with the mobile. He blinked and looked down to meet a pair of sea green - _his_ - eyes. He nearly jump back. There was a baby girl, _alive_ in this haunted house. He gulped and looked down again. The baby girl was beautiful, with lightly tanned skin – unnatural for a newborn baby- long black messy hair – exactly like his- small button nose, cute pouty blood-red lips and … _his_ sea green eyes.

"Daddy?" she asked tilting her head in wonder, her soft red lips pulled in a cute pout. "Daddy?" He instinctively, reached out to her as she giggled.

Then, it hit him like a rock. This was his - and Lily's- daughter. His first ever daughter. It didn't matter that he had broken the vow on not siring demigods. He spun the girl round in joy, his face breaking into a huge grin.

But there was something else… He didn't know his daughter's name. He nearly face palmed at his idiocy. He had a DAUGHTER, and he didn't even know her _name!_

As if reading his mind, his daughter rolled her eyes and held her hand out, making a silky soft green-blue thing zoom towards her hand, which she caught it perfectly – also unnatural for a baby. She handed it to him with a big bright smile. Curiously, Poseidon flattened out the bunched up fabric and found out it was a blanket.

A soft silky shimmering sea-green blanket embroidered with mini tridents, hippocampi, Pegasus, dolphins, fishes … and on the bottom was a shining bronze lettering.

'_Andromeda Lillie-rose Potter'_

"Andromeda Lillie-Rose Potter," he murmured looking at the baby girl in his arms. "Daughter of Poseidon, legacy of Aphrodite, Venus, Mercury, Hermes and_ Athena._" He murmured, slightly distasteful at the name of his immortal enemy.

Then a loud thumps were heard, with the sound of a motorcycle engine. Poseidon knew that they were to take care of his little Pearl. There wasn't much time. He set his Pearl down back on her crib and fished out something from his pocket of his khaki shorts.

It was a beautiful Aquamarine water drop shaped pendent on a thin celestial bronze chain. The aquamarine pendent was full of fresh salt water, fresh from his personal fountain in Atlantis, that was to heal her. There alson was an engraved trident and a hippocampus on the back of the pendent. Perfect for a daughter of the Seas.

"Bye my little Princess." He murmured putting the chain around her neck, kissing her forehead.

She waved back, a sad smile on her face, like she knew that he had to go, and that they won't meet for a while." Bye Daddy…"

"Bye my Pearl, and May the gods be with you." He murmured, his lips twitching at the irony of _him _being a god himself. 'Or maybe not. Most of them will try to kill you but …'

"Remember… The Sea cannot be restrained…" He murmured once more, before disappearing, the soft scent of the sea the only trace of him being there.

Andromeda Potter smiled sadly, her small hands going automatically to her pendant. 'Bye daddy….' She murmured, before closing her bright sea green eyes, yawning tiredly as a giant picked her up gently.

- _The Girl Who Lived_ -

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion – _only_ their opinion -there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small daughter, but they had never even seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen - then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes - the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt - these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their daughter, Andromeda Lillie-Rose"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid.

Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who… _didn't_ have a daughter named Andromeda. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece was called Andromeda. He'd never even seen the girl. It might have been Anna. Or Annabelle. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her - if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw - and it didn't improve his mood - was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early - it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er - Petunia, dear - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their daughter - she'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's her name again? Annabelle, isn't it?"

"Andromeda. Nasty, strange name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of - well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on - he yawned and turned over - it couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring."But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too - well - noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead. "

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's daughter, Andromeda. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Andromeda Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone.

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did little Andromeda survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Andromeda to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family her has left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Andromeda Lillie-Rose Potter cannot come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as the Andromeda Potter day in the future - there will be books written about Andromeda - every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any girl's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding young Andromeda underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing her."

"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under her shoulder length jet-black hair, they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning on her forehead.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well - give her here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I - could I say good-bye to her, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Andromeda and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James dead - an' poor little Andy off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Andy gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside her blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Andromeda," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Andromeda rolled over inside her blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing that she was a result of a broken vow, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dudley... She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Andromeda Potter - the girl who lived!"

Andromeda opened one bright sea green eye and blinked- her eyes full of wisdom and understanding- and winked at the moon gleaming in the sky above her.

"The Sea cannot be restrained…" A faint but warm fathery voice washed over four Privet Drive, with a wisp of cool sea breeze.

'May the Gods be with you… my little Pearl…. May the gods be with you…'

* * *

><p>The first Official Chapter!<p>

Please review! I always welcome any suggestions or comments! Please be nice, this is my first time actually posting a fanfic!

Thanks,

Love, Magic and Demigods

Catarina Persephone aka Midnight-silver-moon-goddess :)

**_Random Book Quote:_**

_'They'll either want to **kill** you, **kiss** you or **be **you'_ - _Finnick O'dair, District Four Victor, Mockingjay_.

Soooo looking foward to seeing the Mockingjat part One!

Happt Hunger Games, and May the Odds be ever in your favour!

P.S- Sorry for the really random quote, Its from Hunger Games, which is really errelevant to Harry Potter and Percy Jackson.


	6. 1: Talking snakes and Vanishing Glass

_Ten Years later:_

I, Andromeda Potter woke up to my horrible giraffe of an Aunt rapping on the door, her shrill voice the first noise of the peaceful day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

I woke up with a start. My Aunt rapped on the door again, making me dizzy with 0all the banging and rapping.

"Up!" she screeched. I heard her walk towards the kitchen and the sound of frying pan being put out on to the stove. I rolled on my back and tried to remember the wonderful dream I had been having. It was amazing and _magical_.

It was about a man with wavy black hair and grey eyes, on a flying motor cycle. It was a dream I had before, on lucky days when I retreated back to my pathetic excuse of a bed only with small bruises.

Then it changed to a castle or a kingdom more like, under the Sea, with fishes and dolphins swimming around freely.

There was also a man, with black messy hair, bright sea-green eyes - so much like my own, a small beard, and had a bronze trident. It was strange to see a merman with a trident in a sea kingdom, but somehow, I felt safe and content with the man. Like the kind of safety that fathers give to their daughters. I longed for that feeling again. I never had a father or a mother. Just my horrible Aunt and Uncle and their ugly son Dudley.

My Aunt was back outside the door again.

"Are you up yet? "She demanded.

"Nearly," said I said yawning tiredly.

"Well. Get a move on, I want you to look after the bacons. And don't' you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

I groaned.

"What did you say?" My Aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing… nothing…"

Dudley's birthday - how could I have _forgotten_? I got slowly out of bed and started to crawl under, where I kept my clothes. I found a pair of black leggings and a lacy green top, and pulled a small spider off them. I was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where I slept. But that didn't mean I liked them. Actually, I hated them. They were hairy and just _yuck._

I was thankful for the clothes that Aunt Petunia had gotten me from second-hand shops. Aunt Petunia has said "Proper Ladies must wear proper clothes". If I had been a boy, I would have had to wear Dudley's old things. And obviously, I wouldn't have liked it.

When I was dressed, I went down the hall into the kitchen.

The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to me, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise-unless of course it involved punching somebody. I was Dudley's favourite punching bag but Dudley was too slow for me. I didn't really look it, but I was _very very_ fast. Or, it had something to do with my ADHD.

Maybe it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but I had always been small and skinny for my age. But even my size couldn't hide my natural beauty.

I had a heart shaped face, long black wavy hair, flawless pale skin and big bright sea-green/emerald eyes, which was my favourite feature. On my forehead, was a thin scar that was shaped like a lightning bolt. I didn't really like the shape, as if I was … as if it lightning was my enemy. I had it as long as I could remember, and the first question I could remember asking my Aunt Petunia how I had gotten it.

"In a car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't' like questions."

_Don't ask questions_- that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. It was sometimes hard really with my ADHD, but I learnt to keep my mouth shut.

But I had a good gut feeling that my parent's death wasn't by a car crash.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as I was turning over the bacon on the pan.

"Comb you hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

"I already did…" I muttered. And really, I did. I had gotten a small plastic comb from Aunt Petunia for my 8th birthday. Aunt Petunia sometimes gave me presents. Like a small hair comb, pins, hair ties or when she was particularly happy with gossips that day, clothes.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that I needed a haircut. But it made no difference. My hair simply grew that way- long and wavy, naturally sea wind swept, just the way I liked it.

I was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much of a neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that laid smoothly on his thick, fat head. The best way to describe him? A fat pig in a blonde wig.

I put the plate of eggs and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell, almost comically.

"Thirty six" he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present. See, it's under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.

I could sense a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, and began wolfing down my breakfast like it was the last meal I was going to have, in case Dudley decided to flip the table.

Aunt Petunia sensed danger too, because she said quickly, "We'll buy you another_ two_ presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work because he hardly ever used his brain. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty Nine." I said smirking at Dudley's idiocy. It was hard to keep my mouth shut at these questions. It was like a reflex, like knowledge was embedded into my brain.

Aunt Petunia shot me a dirty look. "Thirty nine sweetums."

I nearly snorted at that. Sweetums? Really?

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled, even though there was nothing funny.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley! "He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the phone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Uncle Vernon and I watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wrist watch when Aunt Petunia came back looking both angry and worried.

"Bad new Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take _her."_ She jerked her head in my direction

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but I was quite glad. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for that day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or to the movies. Every year, I was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets ahead. I hated it there, the house smelled of rotten old cabbages and Mrs. Figg made me look at all the photos of the cats she owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at me as if I had planned this. Why would I? And if I did, I would have planned something more…. Beneficial.

I knew I ought to feel sorry of Mrs. Figg for breaking her leg but, it wasn't easy as my brain kept supplying that I wouldn't have to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws and Tufty again until next year.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested and I gave a shudder of horror and disgust. She hated me, and the feeling was mutual, as she would always badmouth my parents as if she knew them personally. But I was convinced that my parents were smart enough not to make friends with people like Uncle Vernon and his sister Marge.

"Don't be silly, she hate the girl." I sighed in relief.

The Dursleys often spoke about me as if I wasn't there- or rather, as though I was something very nasty that wouldn't go away. But it wasn't my fault that my mouth kept saying sarcastic and witty remarks. I was just _born_ that way.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here, you know," I said as I twirled a lock of dark hair between my fingers, bored of the conversation already.

I would have rather stayed here than somewhere else, as I would have been able to go swimming in the lake I had found in the woods, and read the thick Greek Mythology books I had gotten from the library to the fishes in the lake (I somehow was able to talk to fishes and sea animals) on the sunny and grassy area where the lake was, without Aunt Petunia breathing down my neck.

Aunt Petunia looked as if she had just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in the ruins?" She snarled.

I scoffed." I won't blow up the house," But of course, nobody was listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly as if she said it fast, something would blow up. Something that started with a 'Dud' and finished with a 'ley' "…and leave her in the car…."

"The car's new, she's not sitting in it alone…."

Dudley began to cry loudly. I had to block my ears because his wailing was so loud. In fact, he wasn't really crying – it had been years since he'd really cried – but he knew if he screwed up his ugly face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let _her_ spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him. I rolled my eyes at the display in front of me, though it was quite funny. A thin giraffe necked women, hugging a short fat boy, who was wailing like a baby. It was quite a site to watch.

"I … don't…want…her…t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "She always spoils everything!" He shot me a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

I muttered under my breath "I don't want to be anywhere near you."

Just then – when it was becoming to be quite entertaining- the doorbell rang-"Oh, good Lords, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically- and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind them while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped crying at once.

- Talking Snakes and Vanishing Glass -

Half an hour later, I was sitting at the back of the Dudley's car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with me, but before they left, Uncle Vernon pulled me aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large unnatural purple face right close to mine. "I'm warning you Girl, any funny business, any funny business at all, and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," I said "well at least I wouldn't try to …"

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe me. Nobody did.

The problem was, that strange things often happened around me. Like I was always at the wrong place at wrong time. And it was no good telling the Dursleys that I didn't make them happen. Nobody ever believed me.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of me coming back from the barbers as if I hadn't been there at all, had took a pair of kitchen scissors and cut off my hair short ,up to the middle of my head and almost bald except for a few strands of hair for a bang, to 'hide that hideous scar'. I had willed myself for my hair to grow back, long, down to my waist, sea wind swept and wavy. Next morning, my hair had grown back, just the way I wanted and liked, just like before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. I was stuck in the cupboard for a week, even though I tried to explain that I didn't know how my hair grow back so fast. I tried to explain that I had nothing to do with it as it was so unnatural. But of course, that didn't help.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force me into a revolting old sweater of Aunt Marge's (Brown with bright pink and orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over my head, the smaller it seemed to become, until it was only large enough to fit a hand puppet, but of course it wouldn't fit me, thank the _gods_. Aunt Petunia had decided it had shrunk in the wash and thankfully, I didn't get any punishments.

Once, I gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing me as usual when, I don't know how I got there, and I was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter form the Headmistress telling that _I_ had been climbing school buildings. I tried and tried – even yelled at Uncle Vernon through the key hole in the cupboard – to explain that all I tried to do was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. I supposed the wind must have caught me or something.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. Hopefully. It was nice to be not in my cupboard or Mrs. Figg's cabbage smelling living room. Even if I was with Dudley and Piers.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He loved to complain about things. People at work, me, the council, me, the bank, me were just a few of his favourite subjects. Of course, I felt _really_ special to be talked about all the time.

This morning, was about motorcycles.

"… Roaring along like a maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," I said, remembering about the pleasant dream about the flying motorcycle with the grey eyed man. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and started yelling at me, his face like a giant purple beet with a mustache.

"MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"Of course they don't. That why it's called a dream." I said in a DUH voice, rolling my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't have said anything. If there was one thing the Dusleys hated more than me asking questions, was talking about strange, unnatural and _magical_ things, whether in a dream or even a random cartoon- they seemed to think that I was getting dangerous ideas. Not that I was out of any.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers each a large chocolate ice cream at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady from the ice cream van had asked me what I wanted before they could hurry me away, they got me a delicious vanilla ice cream. The Dursleys had shot me a nasty look but, well, the ice cream was worth it, as I licked , watching a gorilla scratching its head, who looked remarkably alike to Dudley, except that the gorilla wasn't blond.

I had the best morning in a long time- the last time being the morning I had found a way to reach the heavy Greek Mythology books in the top shelves. I was careful to walk a little bit apart from Dudley and Piers in case they grew bored and tried to hit me. Unsuccessfully.

We had a lovely lunch at the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his desert didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and I was allowed to finishes the first, which still practically untouched.

I knew my luck wasn't going to last long.

After Lunch, we went to the Reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of stone and wood. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can-but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed off.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away with Uncle Vernon and Piers.

I moved in front of the glass and examined the snake. It looked like torture in there, with stupid people drumming fingers on the glass to disturb the poor snake all day long. It looked worse than being stuck in the cupboard under the stairs.

The snake suddenly opened its beady looking eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its yellow eyes were on a level with my own sea green ones

_It winked._

I stared at the snake and looked around to see if anyone else was looking. Nobody was. I turned back to the snake and winked back, a smile on my face.

The snake, who I named Boara, as he was a Boa Constrictor, jerked its head to where Uncle Vernon and Dudley was ogling over some other snake and raised its eyes towards the ceiling. It gave me a look that said:

"_I get that all the time."_

"I know" I murmured to Boara through the glass, not caring if I looked insane talking to a snake. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded its head – something I didn't know snakes could- vigorously, as if glad that_ someone _was able to understand the feeling of being trapped.

"Where do you come from anyway?" I asked curiously.

Boara jabbed his tail at a little sign next to the glass. I peered at it.

_Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

"Was it nice there?" Boara jabbed his tail again at the sign again and I read on:

_This specimen was breed in the zoo._

"Oh, I see…You've never been to Brazil."

As the snake shook its head, a loud and deafening shout behind me made both of us jump.

"DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudely came waddling towards us as fast as he could, which wasn't really fast as he was really slow and fat.

"Out of the way, _girl_." He said, like _girl _was the best insult he could think of and punching me in the ribs. Correction: _tried_ to punch me in the ribs, but failed as I had superfast reflexes and jumped back in time and tripping him with my foot.

What happened next was so fast, I almost missed it- one second, Piers and Dudley was pressed up against the glass, the next, they fell in with shrieks of horror.

I gaped at the site. Strange things happened to me, but this was new. The glass in front of the tank had vanished. Vanished, gone into thin air, no sign of any glass at all, like it wasn't there in the first place.

Boara uncoiled himself rapidly and slithered out of the tank onto the floor. People in the reptile house began screaming and started running for the exits which was a stupid idea since the snake itself was going towards the exit.

As Boara slid swiftly past me, I heard a low hissing voice from him." Brazil, here I come… Thanksss, amigo." As shocked I was, I smiled and blew him a kiss, with Boara giving me a hissy kiss back.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, as if in a trance, "Where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber and stutter like a couple of idiots. As far as I saw, Boara didn't do anything expect snap playfully at their heels as he passed, But Dudley was telling that the snake tried to bite his foot off, and Piers said it tried to squeezed him to death.

The worst part?

When Piers calmed down enough, he said, "Andromeda was talking to it, weren't you Andy?" I groaned, I knew I was going to be stuck in that cupboard for ages.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on me. He was so angry, he could barely speak. He only managed to say, "Go- cupboard - stay - no meals." before collapsing into a chair, Aunt Petunia running to get him a large brandy. I suppose what Uncle Vernon was trying to say was, "Go to the Cupboard and stay there. No meals." But that was all I thought, before I was practically thrown into the dark cupboard.

- Talking Snakes and Vanishing Glass -

Several hours later I lied on my dark cupboard, wishing I had a watch. I didn't know what time it was and I couldn't be sure if the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, I couldn't risk sneaking into the kitchen for some food, or to turn on the light to read my new chapter of my Greek Mythology books, one about Zeus, Hades and Poseidon.

I lived with the Durlseys for almost ten years, ten horrible years, as long as I could remember, ever since I was a baby and when my parents died- defiantly not by a car crash. I couldn't remember being in the car, when, apparently my parents died. Sometimes, when I concentrated, I came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of vibrant green light and a burning pain on my forehead, a faint face of the man with sea green eyes, smiling gently at me as he put a small aquamarine water-drop shaped pendent filled with fresh saltwater with small thin bronze and rose gold chain around my neck. The pain on my forehead, I supposed was the crash, or whatever killed my parents, though, I couldn't imagine what the green light or the man with the sea green eyes came from.

I couldn't remember my parents, not really, I just knew that my dad's name was James Potter or Prongs, had black messy hair and hazel eyes, and my mum was Lily Potter nee Evans, with red hair and green eyes. I was sure that the grey eyed man with the flying motor cycle was who I remembered as Uncle Paddy, because at that time - I was like… _one _- I couldn't say Padfoot properly. There was another man, with bright amber-gold eyes and dirty blond-brown hair, who, if I recalled properly, was uncle Moony. That was all I remembered of my parents. Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Lily.

When I was younger, I used to dream and dream of some unknown relation coming to take me away from the horrible Dursleys, but of course, that never happened.

But sometimes, very strange strangers seemed to know me. A tiny man with a violet top hat and cloak, bowed to me, once, when I was out shopping with Aunt Petunia. After asking furiously if I knew that man, Aunt Petunia whisked me away without buying the eggs that we needed.

A wild looking old women dressed in all green, cloak, hat, robes and all, had waved at me merrily once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken my hand and walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all those people was the way they seemed to vanish the second, I tried to get a closer look.

I sighed, and tugged at my pendent - which I had gotten from the sea –green eyed man, and the pendent I had kept a secret from Aunt Petunia. If she knew, she would have took it away or sell it- that I also used as a light. When I tugged on the drop, small but bright silvery gold light with a sea green hue came out. The pendant's water was also useful, as it would heal me whenever I was hurt. I closed my eyes, praying to every Greek gods I knew, that something or someone would get me out of his hell hole.

* * *

><p>Second Chapter... well technically the First Chapter... But oh well..<p>

Review Please :)

Random Book Quote:

_I solemnly **Swear** that I'm up to **no Good - **The Marauders; Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs -Harry Potter_


	7. 2: Letters from Hoggy Warts

Chapter Two: _Letters from Hoggy Warts_

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned me my longest ever punishment. That wasn't my fault, by the way. By the time I was allowed out of the cramped cupboard, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, undoubtly crashed his remote control airplane into the garden fences, and first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

I was very glad school was over, but sadly, there was no escaping Dudley's stupid gang of uglies, who visited the house every single _day_. I know, seeing their ugly face more than I needed or wanted is _very _hard work. Piers- who l hated more than ever, after the snake accident in the zoo- , Dennis, Malcom, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but Dudley being the biggest- meaning the fattest- and the stupidest, he was the leader, hence the name of 'Dudley's Gang' They all seemed to have something in common- not counting being fat and stupid that is- and they were more than happy to join Dudley on their favourite sport – I had a great shock the other day, seeing the gang playing a _sport_ was a miracle more or less: Andromeda or Andy Hunting.

That was an another reason I spent most of my time outside- not that I minded, wondering out in the woods, swimming, reading and mostly thinking about the end of the holidays, where there was a tiny stream of hope of avoiding Dudley and his exceptionally ugly face.

When September came, I was going to secondary school or intermediate and for the first time in my _life, _I wouldn't be with my pathetic excuse of a cousin. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltlings. In my opinion, was a disgusting name for a school. _Smeltling!_ That was practically advertising that the school stank. Piers Polkiss was going there too, much to my relief. I on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, a local public school. Dudley thought it was very funny. Though he was not the only person in the house to be accepted into a private school.

I had secretly applied for a scholarship in the nearby private school with the help of my kind teacher, Ms Athena who had striking stormy grey eyes. I had gotten the scholarship, but of course, the Dursleys decided to take that away too. Complaining about all the money it was going to cost, when the letter clearly said, 'SCHOLARSHIP'.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," Dudley had said. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thank you," I said, "The poor toilets' never had anything as horrible as your head down it- it might get sick." I sniffed and pretended to be sad at the toilet, sarcasm practically dripping at every word. I walked away coolly before Dudley could work out what I had said. Which wasn't happening in a long time.

One day in July, I can't be bothered to even remember the day, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his smeltling uniform, leaving me at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't bad as usual. She was cranky at her cats as she tripped over one and broke her leg; she wasn't very fond of them at the moment. She let me watch Television and gave me a bit of chocolate cake that I quickly refused, as it smelled like she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand new uniform. Smeltling boys wore a maroon tailcoat, tacky orange knickerbockers- which happened to be a really weird baggy pants sort of thing- and flat straw hats called boaters.

They also carried these ridiculous knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. Apparently, that was supposed to be good training for late life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickers -whatevers- can't be bothered to know the name, Uncle Vernon gruffly said that it was the proudest moments of his life. Which had to be really boring is seeing Dudley is that _thing_ was proud. Aunt Petunia even burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, looking so handsome and grown up. I didn't say anything. I already thought that two of my right ribs were cracked from trying not to crack up.

-Letters from Hoggy Warts-

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when I went in for breakfast. The smell seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. When I went to have a look with one hand pinching my nose, the tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"What is this?" I asked Aunt Petunia who was holding a pair of long kitchen tongs. Her lips tightened as they always did when I asked a mere innocent question.

"Your' new school uniform' she said as she poked the rags with her tong.

I crinkled my nose in distaste as I looked in the tub again.

"Okay?!" I said. "Well, I didn't realize it had to be soon wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped aunt petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Pier's cousin's things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished" She said it like I would be grateful for the kindness that she had given me and start to bow down muttering thank yous and kissing her shoes.

I seriously doubted this, but kept my mouth shut, as it would be best if I didn't argue about that _thing_ in the kitchen sink. I sat down at the table and tried not to think about how I was going to look on my first day at Stonewall High. Probably looking like I had a major fight with a dead elephant and got the old skin glued to me.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, with wrinkled noses because of the horrid smell from my new uniform- or what was supposed to be. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper like every other morning and Dudley banged his Smeltling stick, which he carried everywhere, even to the bathroom, on the table.

Soon, we heard the familiar 'click' of the mail slot and the soft flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said from behind his paper, not even bothering to look up.

"Make Andromeda get it" the said boy whined.

"Go get the Mail, Girl"

"Make Dudley get it" I retorted back.

"Poke her with your Smeltling stick, Dudley"

I dodged the stick skilfully and walked down the hall to get the mail. Three things laid on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, who was having a holiday on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked remarkably- and was probably- a bill and … _a Letter addressed for me._

I picked it up and stared at it like it was a really complicated math problem. No one, EVER, in my whole life, had written to me. Who would? I had no relatives, or no friends. Well, _human_ friends and I was sure the sea animals couldn't send me a letter. It wasn't from the library and the book I had gotten wasn't due till the end of next month. But here it was, a letter, addressed clearly and plainly on the envelope.

_Ms. A. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The envelope was thick and heavy, made pf yellowish parchment, and the address was written in delicate emerald-green ink. But there was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over with trembling hands, I saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter _H._ It was strange but welcoming and familiar. I was sure I had seen that golden lion before…

"Hurry up Girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen, clearly impatient. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke, which was totally _lame._

I went into the kitchen, still examining the seal with a frown on my face, trying to will my brain to get the memories of the green light. The lion _was_ there, though it looked like only a drawing or a painting of it. I dumped the bill and the postcard onto the table in front of Uncle Vernon, without much care. I sat down back on my chair, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope, my curiosity overpowering the other side of my brain that was yelling to not open it.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted like a pig in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny Whelk…"

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly "Dada, Andromeda's got something!"

I was on the point of unfolding the letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of my hands by Uncle Vernon.

I cursed inwardly at my stupidly. I should have opened it in the cupboard, not in the clear sight of the Dursley! I sighed. There goes my letter.

"That is _mine,_" I hissed trying to take the letter back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" Sneered uncle Vernon, shaking my letter open with one hand, and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds, he's face was the colour of greyish white of old porridge, which was exceptionally unattractive.

"P-P-Petunia!" He gasped, his beady little eyes big.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it put of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment, I thought she was going to faint right there. She clutched her throat, and making choking noises.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness- Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to forget that Dudley and I were still in the room. Dudley was not used to being ignored, and he sharply tapped Uncle Vernon on the head with his Smeltlings stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"Shouldn't_ I_ get to read it? You know, since it's _mine_?" I said folding my arms.

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

I didn't move from my chair.

"_I_ want _my_ letter." I said gritting my teeth, trying to control the familiar tugging in my stomach that formed every time I was angry.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he grabbed my arm and Dudley's ear, threw us into the hall, slamming and locking the door behinds him. Dudley started to press his ear to the key whole, trying to eavesdrop, while I just sat leaning against a wall. I somehow had super hearing, and listening through a door was easy.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address-how could they possibly know where she sleeps. You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching - spying- might be following us," Muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want-"

I could practically see Uncle Vernon pacing up and down, muttering and scratching his moustache in the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "We'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…"

"But-"

"I'm not having on in the house, Petunia. Didn't we swear when we took her in, we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

I pressed my lips together. They knew something. They knew who wrote the letter. And they hated me for it.

-Letters from Hoggy Warts-

That evening, when Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before. He visited me in my cupboard.

I was reading the next chapter of my book; one about Medusa, Poseidon and Athena, when Uncle Vernon squeezed through the door, uninvited, I might say.

"Where is my letter?" I asked though I _knew_ Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia already had either burnt it or put it in the trash. "Who is writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burnt it"

"Yeah, it _totally _a mistake that the writer wrote to me, with the letter addressed to _my cupboard_ and nobody here has a name starting with an A or a P. Let alone a _Potter._ It _is_ mine, and you know it." I said angrily, putting a small piece of blue ribbon as my book mark on the page of my book. The logic in my sentence clearly pushed Uncle Vernon to his limits, because he roared in anger.

"SILENCE!" A couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. I flicked them away, grimacing at the sight of the black hairy legs. Uncle Vernon took a few deep breaths and forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Err - yes, Andromeda - about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're really getting too big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom. And a cupboard is not a place for a girl."

"Why?" My eyes narrowed, the Dursleys were _never_ nice. They did _nothing _nice. And they definitely didn't care if I was a girl. It was a trap, or a way to… it hit me. The letter said the _Cupboard under the stair,_ _directly_. They were testing if the letter would come again, to a _different_ address.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped my Uncle. "Take your stuff up stairs now."

The Dursley's house had four bedrooms: One for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's Sister Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom, my new room.

It only took me one trip upstairs to move everything I owned from the cupboard to the room. I sat down on the bed and looked around. Nearly everything around him was broken. The month old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbour's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first ever television, which he had put his foot though when his favourite program was cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a colourful parrot that Dudley had swapped for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. The other selves were full of books, and they were the only things that looked as though they'd never been touched. Dudley hated books, and anything smart and informative.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want her in there... I need that room... make her get out..."

I sighed and stretched out on the bed. Covering my ears with a pillow to block out the wailing. Yesterday. I'd given anything to be here, well not everything, definitely NOT my pendant. Today, I'd rather be back in his cupboard with that strange letter than up here without it, not knowing who sent it or what it was for.

-Letter from Hoggy Warts-

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was quiet, just nibbling at the food, glancing at each other silently. Dudley was in shock. He had screamed, whack his father with his Smeltling stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the green house roof- who I had rescued and brought him to the lake safely, and still didn't have his room back. I thought about this very time yesterday and bitterly wished that I had hidden the letter and read it in the cupboard. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying- and practically failing to be nice to me, made Dudley go and get it. We head him banging things down the hallway with his Smeltlings stick. The he shouted, "There is another one! 'Miss A. Potter, the smallest bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-'"

With a strangled cry Uncle Vernon leapt up from his seat and ran down the hall, not even bothering to hear the rest of the sentence, with me right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the thick creamy envelope from him as Dudley was trying to open it, and I made it difficult by grabbing Uncle Vernon around the neck from the behind.

After a few minutes of confused fighting-wrestling, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smeltling stick, every got soaking wet – not me- , Uncle Vernon stood up staggering and soaking, gasping for breath, with the now soaked letter clutched tightly in his fat hands.

"Go to your cupboard- I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at me, huffing. "Dudley- go- just go."

I sighed angrily and walked around Uncle Vernon to my new room upstairs. Someone knew I had moved out of my cupboard and they seemed to know I hadn't received the first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? I hoped so. I had a gut feeling it was important. And my gut feeling was _very_ trustworthy.

When the newly repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning, I quickly and silently got dressed and walked down the hallway. Hoping not to wake anybody up. Especially Uncle Vernon.

I walked down to the front door, where the mail would arrive and …

I jumped up. I had stepped on something big and squashy, something... Something very _alive_ and _human._

Lights clicked on upstairs and I realised that he big, squashy, alive, human _thing _had been Uncle Vernon's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the door in a sleeping bad, clearly making sure that I didn't do what I intended to do. Before Uncle Vernon ruined it that was. He shouted at me- and probably waking the whole house, no whole street up- nonstop and then demanded to get him a cup of strong hot tea.

I sighed, and ran my hands into my hair and walked back to the kitchen. I knew the letter would arrive, while I was making the stupid cup of _strong, hot tea_, right onto Uncle Vernon's lap.

I could see my name addressed in emerald green ink on the envelope.

"I want- "I began to say, but Uncle Vernon was already tearing the letter into pieces, grinning madly at me while doing so. I grumbled darkly under my breath.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work today. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "If they can't deliver them, they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, as if 'You and me' were the only people in the world with sane minds, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived, all of them addressed to Miss A. Potter aka me, in emerald green ink on a thick creamy envelope. As they couldn't go through the mail slot, they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the side, and a few even forced tough the small window in the down stairs bathroom. I tried to grab them but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to be _everywhere._

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the crack around the front and back doors so no one go out. He hummed 'Tiptoe through the tulips' terribly as he worked and jumped frequently at small noises such as small rustle of the trees and the sudden whoosh of the wind.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty four letters all of them for me found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of two dozen eggs that the very confused milkman had handed to Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious phone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia the letters I her food processor, making me watch every single twenty four letters turn into useless shreds of paper.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked me in amazement. I merely shrugged in response. Who wanted to talk to me _this _badly?

On Sunday Morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and ill but strangely happy.

"No posts on Sundays," he reminded us cheerfully as he spread marmalade in his newspaper, "No dam letters toady –"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head, while I tried not to snicker. Next moment, thirty of forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked helplessly, but I jumped up from my chair, trying to catch one.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized me around the waist and threw me into the hall like I was a useless _thing_. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out of the room with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. I could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor. I banged my head on the wall, muttering angrily, annoyed that I hadn't managed to get _one_ letter out of few dozens.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time, leaving strands of hair on the floor "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue.

I trudged upstairs and got dressed in black jeans, long warm shirt, and a jacket and tied my shoelaces neatly. I packed two sets of clothes, undergarments, hairbrush, hair ties and my book of Greek Mythology into my old black school bag.

Ten minutes later we had wrenched our way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag, which obviously wouldn't fit.

We drove. And we drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where we were going. I tried but Uncle Vernon cut me off with a sharp "Shut Up!" Every now and then, Uncle Vernon would take sharp turns that would make me and Dudley crash against the door- and as the result Dudley almost bending the door- and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shak'em off… Shake'em off." He muttered insanely every few minutes. I was _seriously _doubting his sanity.

We didn't stop to eat for drink all day. By night fall, Dudley was howling like a wounded wolf. It was probably his worst day ever. He was obviously hungry, by the loud noise that came from his fat stomach, he had missed half a dozen television programmes and he had never gone so long without blowing up a random, stupid, alien thing on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy looking hotel on the outskirts of the big city. Dudley shared a room with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia while I got a room to myself. The rooms were all old with damp musty sheets and I could hear Dudley and Uncle Vernon snoring from the room next door. I sat on the window sill, staring at the light of passing cars and wondering about the letters that seemed to know exactly where I was and fidgeting with the pendant, which was now a habit.

The next morning, we had stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes for breakfast, which Dudley frowned and winkled his face at. But he didn't turn it down. We had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to the table we were seated on. "Scuse me, but is one of you Miss A. Potter? I got about 'undered of these at the front desk."

She held up the familiar letter so we could read the green inked adderess:

_Miss A. Potter_

_Room 17_

_Railvew Hote;_

_Cokeworth_

"Yeah, that's me-"I tried to grab the letter, but Uncle Vernon knocked my hand from the letter and an angry huff. The woman stared. "Miss A Potter…"

"I'll take them." Said Uncle Vernon gruffly, standing up quickly and ushering her from the dining room with a nasty glare.

A few minutes later, we were off again. "Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, was a mystery. He'd drive us into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car and off we went again. He same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bride and at the top of a multilevel parking garage. "Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, lock us all inside the car and disappeared.

I looked up from the tale of Perseus, the Greek hero, son of Zeus to face Dudley who was shivering and stuttering in his thin shirt. He had tried to look cool in the shirt but the shirt was useless. It was very thin, so Dudley was now blue from head to toe, shivering and sniffling. "Yes. He had gone insane, Dudley. You are probably next."

At that time, it started to rain. Great drops of water beat on the roof of the car, like a loud unwelcomed drum. Dudley ley snivelled, asking Aunt Petunia if "He was the next to become mad." And complaining. "It's Monday," he sniffled. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a TV"

Monday… This reminded me something. If it was Monday- and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week because of television- today would be 30th of July. Then tomorrow, Tuesday would be 31st of July. My eleventh birthday. My birthdays were never exactly fun and the only gift I got was some clothes or random rubbish from Dudley. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling, no grinning, wildly. He was also carrying a long thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia, when she asked what he had bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said cheerfully. "Come one! Everyone out!"

It was freezing outside the car, and thankfully, my jacket was waterproof. I turned around to see what Uncle Vernon was pointing. He was point to what liked a large rock, way out the sea and perched on top, was the most miserable little shack anyone could imagine. One thing was certain. There was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" Uncle Vernon clapped his hands together gleefully, looking quite mad. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us hi boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to us, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below us.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down our necks and a chilly wind whipped our faces.

I looked out to the water, dipping my hand in the freezing cold water, enjoying the cool feeling of salt water on my hand. Water, especially saltwater or sea water; hot or cold never bothered me. It was like a drug, calm and comforting, along with the booming of the storm and the soft icy rain down my neck. The storm were wonderful, more so if there were no lightning lighting up the sky. As I dragged my hand along, I felt a soft and gentle pull, like a magnetic pull, drawing me closer and closer. A face appeared on the sea, a foggy face, but a face, none or less. It was a face of a man, with messy black hair- that reminded me of my own, but shorter- tan skin and bright sea green eyes. The man looked very alike, to the green eyed man I had seen in my dreams and the vison of the night of my parent's murder. "Come…. Come my little pearl. You will be safe... come…" a soft whisper settled over the old rowboat and the Dursleys shivered. "Come…" As if in a trance, I reached out to the water, dipping my whole arm into blue-grey water. The pull was now stronger. It was powerful, but gentle, like a father's comforting touch to a little daughter. I clutched my bag in one hand, and without warning the Dursleys, and almost unconsciously, I dived in to the welcoming sea.

-Letters from Hoggy Warts-

As I hit the water, my mind came back to me. I had just dived into the freezing cold sea, in the middle of the storm. What was I thinking? I would have face palmed myself if I wasn't clutching tightly onto the old straps of my bag. _Stupid_.

I was sinking, down into the deep and bluer and fresher water. It was beautiful, soft and clear blues blending gently with all sorts of sea animals and plants, creating a beautiful and elegant Sea kingdom. Sea Kingdom… My dream, the one that I had on Dudley's birthday, it was of the same green eyed merman with a bronze trident in his hands, in a sea kingdom, I was sure of it. Was it all real? Did it mean something?

I began swimming – after putting away my water proof jacket into my bag as it was useless and I was waterproof myself -following the gentle pull and the current of the water. As I swan, hundreds of fishes and sea animals swam past me, waving their fins in greeting. I waved back, the corners of my lips lifting up in a smile as I watch them swim and bicker amongst each other. I managed to catch some words. 'The King's princess!' and 'ohh look, it's the princess!' Strange…

The King's princess?! Maybe there_ was_ a kingdom down here. Maybe, the myths were real. The sea… Poseidon. I was in the realm of Poseidon, that I knew. But were the myths real? They were called _Myths_ for a reason right? But even to my own ears, it sounded like I was trying to convince myself.

As I swam, my pendant started to glow, covering itself in an eerie blue light, making me blink. The pendant rarely glowed. The only time I had seen it glow was the time I had seen – or imagined, that, I didn't know- a pure white horse with strange blue mane and bright sea green eyes. Maybe that horse was here? As soon as I had that thought, I nearly slapped myself in the back of the head for my idiocy. Something was wrong with my brain today. Horses didn't live under water, let alone the sea. Even strange ones.

Suddenly, a pair of arms grabbed me from behind, making me yelp in surprise. The arms, or I should say my kidnapper-under-the-sea, drag- no swam me to gods-knew-where, ignoring my writhing and wiggling.

I tried cursing out loud, but was cut off by the hand covering my mouth firmly, effectively shutting me up. I sighed. There was nowhere to escape now. Even if I did, how was I going to find the Dursleys again? I was sure the Dursleys were delighted that I attempted suicide- at least in their eyes. And it would be stranger if I just popped up from the sea, perfectly dry and definitely not drowned or crazy. Maybe I had gone crazy. Maybe I got effected by the madness from Uncle Vernon?

After a few minutes of silent swimming, the arms let me go. I leaped back, my eyes wild and narrowed. We were now in a sort of a cave, with smooth grey walls, sea weeds, shells, and clams, pearls… absolutely spectacular.

A soft but hard and firm hands tapped me on my arm, causing me to jerk out of my inspection of the cave. I whirled around, to see who exactly my kidnapper was.

He… I swear on river Styx, that my heart could have stopped right there. The man, looked - no _was_ the man that haunted my dreams and visions. The same messy black locks, sun tanned skin, the green fish tail, the bronze trident clasped firmly on his right hand, and … the same sea green eyes, radiating power.

'Who are you?" I tried to say, but I couldn't get any words out. It was like my lips were glued together. _No…_ my hand went to my mouth, to feel if my lips were glued together. To my relief, they weren.t Somehow, I was mute, hopefully only temporarily. I wouldn't bear it if I couldn't voice my amazing, witty and sarcastic remarks to the world.

The man, grabbed my hand almost nervously, and pressed something small in them and closed them together, letting go of my hands.

'What was it?' I yearned to open my hand to look at the object in my hand, but a small voice countered my curiosity. 'You can't just _look_ at a _thing_ a _stranger_ gave you after _kidnapping_ you!'

In the end, my curiosity won the little mental argument. I looked up to the man, who nodded at my hand, as if to say, '_open and look'_. I gave a little shrug to my self and opened my hand, to find out the object on the palms of my hand, almost innocently.

The object turns out, was a ring. It was beautiful, with elegant and intricate design, made of simple bronze and silver band, with a big stone in the centre. The stone was the exact shade of my... our eyes. The moment I saw the ring, I had a sudden whoosh of power, comforting and welcoming. I slipped on the ring on my right ring finger, as if I had done it for my whole short life.

_'Twist the stone if you are in danger. It will protect you_.' A gentle voice washed over me. I didn't know how a ring could protect me, but I for some reason, didnt doubt the man.

The man smiled at me, like it was something he'd do in a normal monday. I scrunched up my face in confusion. First, the man _kidnap_s me in the middle of the _storm_, into the _sea._ Next, he drags me off to this cave thing and gives me a ring. A bloody ring. Then he _smiles_ at me. He bloody SMILES at me.

But that was the last though as I was shot up, out of the sea, out of sight of the man.

-Letters from Hoggy Warts-

I blinked. Still trying to wrap my thought around the fact that I had gone underwater and then end up in the old rowboat, as if the time never passed and I had never had a wild dive in the sea. Maybe I was just imagining? Maybe I was hallucinating…

A small light flashed from my fingers as if reminding me that… I gaped at my finger openly. The ring was there… right there! On jammed into my right ring finger, glittering though there wasn't much light.

I groaned and out my head in my hands annoyed.

After what it seemed like hours on the rickety boat, we finally arrived at the rock, where Uncle Vernon slipping and sliding like an idiot, led the way to the broken down shack.

The inside was horrible: the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. And it smelled strongly of seaweed. Even though I was okay with sea weed, the small was _strong._ And There were only two rooms, which was… disgusting.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled up. I rolled my eyes, Plastic didn't work well with fire. Everyone knew that. Paper worked the best.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was obviously very good mood. He thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. I privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer me up at all. Who would deliver a _mail_, which was never answered in the middle of the storm?!

As night fell, the promised storm blew up more strongly around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows, making dust fly everywhere. Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the old moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and I was left alone on the floor with my jacket snuggled around me, reading and shivering under the cold and hard floor.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. I couldn't sleep. I shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, fidgeting with my new ring. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist ticked and I knew I would be eleven on ten minutes. I laid still and watched my birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

I reached out on to the dust covered floor and drew a small birthday cake with eleven candles, fidgeting with my pendant and my ring.

Five minutes to go. I heard something creak outside. I just hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although I might have been a bit warmer if it really did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters, when we got back- and if we ever do- that I'd be able to steal one somehow, without Uncle Vernon tossing them mercilessly in to the fire.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock? I was sure that wasn't a natural sea sound… And (two minutes to go) that funny crunching noise… Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine… eight… seven... six… five… four… three... two... one...

BOOM!

The whole shack shivered violently and I bolted upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in. Someone big... no huge and defiantly not normal.

* * *

><p>Second Chapter:)<p>

Really Sorry for the late update.. it was a bust and hectic week. and I just had my Birthday! No body is ever is old for birthdays :)

Soo... Andromeda met Poseidon and got a gift for her birthday! I was working on the part, with one had holding a fork and a cake in my mouth:)

Special thank you to spicerabbit for ll your amazing idea and support!

Review Please :)

Random Book Quote:

_'Happiness can be found even in the darkest of the times, If one only remembers to **turn on the light**'_ - _Albus Dumbledore_

'Lumos!'

Love, magic and demigods,

Catarina Persephone


	8. 3: Hagrid, the giant of the Keys

Chapter Three: _Hagrid, the giant of the keys._

BOOM! Unknown person knocked again, nearly bursting the wooden door. Dudley jerked awake, falling off the moth eaten sofa in process. "Where's the cannon?" he asked stupidly.

I rolled my eyes. "It's not cannon. Someone is knocking to come in."

There was a loud crash behind us and Uncle Vernon skidded into the room with a rifle in his hands – which I assumed what was in the long thin package.

"Who's there?" he shouted at the door. I put my hands to my ears to block the noise. "I warn you – I'm armed!" I blinked. Were you supposed to tell a stranger that you were armed? Wasn't element of surprise a greater strength?

There was a pause, and I thought the person had given up. Then –

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force; it had been swung or blown off its hinges and landed flat on the floor with a deafening crash, making dust fly everywhere.

A giant of a man, no I think he was a giant, or a half giant in the least, stood in the door way. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild tangled beard, but I could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under the tangles of hair.

The giant squeezed his was into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into to the old frame. The noise of the storm outside and dropped a little. He turned to look at us.

"Couldn't make a cup o'tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen in fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump," the stranger muttered.

Dudley gave a terrified squeak and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching terrified, behind Uncle Vernon. I would have laughed if the giant didn't turn to me.

"An' here's our dear little Andromeda!" He greeted, his fierce, wild and shadowy face clinked up in a smile, with his black eyes glinting joyously.

I felt myself scrunch up my face in confusion. 'Did I know him?'

"Las' time I saw you, you were only a baby," said the giant, "yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Uncle; Vernon made a funny rasping noise, his face, unnaturally purple. "I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he yelled, clutching onto his rifle. "You are breaking and entering."

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa and plucked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's trembling hand, bent in into a knot easily, as if it was made of seaweed, and threw it into the dustiest and the darkest cover of the room.

Uncle Vernon was now looking at the rifle in shock, his mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out, only a small squeak of fear. He looked ridiculous.

"Anyway- Andy- you don't mind if I call you Andy?" asked the giant turning his back on the Dursleys with a dismissive wave of his big hands. I nodded. Andy wasn't a bad nickname and Andromeda was too long. "A Happy Birthday to yeh. Got sommat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From inside pocket of his black coat, he pulled a slightly squashed white box and held it out nervously. I took the box curiously and opened the box. When the box was uncovered, a small woof of delicious chocolate came out of the box. I peered inside the box and my face broke into a large grin. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Andy' written on it with green icing that matched my eyes perfectly.

I looked up at the giant, I wanted to say thank you. It was surprising that I had gotten two presents for birthday. Hey, being eleven is special! But I was curious. Who exactly was the giant? He talked like he had knew me and my parents. Maybe he did? But I couldn't be so sure right? The cake might be poisonous. Lots of people used that trick, but the simplest was the deadliest. "Thank you… but who are you?

The giant chuckled, making the whole room shake. "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.

Hog… Warts?! What kind of name was that?

Before I could ask what the Hog Warts thing was, Hagrid held out his hand and shook my arm so wildly, I thought my arm was going to fall off from my shoulders.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together as his eyes fell on the empty grate. He snorted when he saw the shrivelled chip bags. It _did _looked pretty weird. He bent over the fireplace; I couldn't see what he was doing - and I think that was the point of him bending over- but when he straightened up a second later, fire was roaring warmly, flickering yellow and orange and red, lighting up the damp room. The warmth washed over me like a blanket, making me smile softly and yawn. Hey don't blame! It was midnight for the gods' sake!

The Giant-named-Hagrid- down on the sofa, which sagged drastically under his weight and began to take _all these things_ out of his pockets of his coat. A copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs and a bottle of some weird amber liquid that he took a swig before starting to make tea he had wanted.

Soon the old hut was full of sound and the delicious smell of sizzling sausages. It was lively, smoke coming from the chimney and the flames dancing wildly. I loved it and the storm had calmed a bit, the waves soothing as they spilled over each other and the cool whoosh of the sea breeze, making my hair dance, welcoming the breeze, not minding if they messed up my hair. It was already messy.

The hut was quite, except the sizzling sausages and a few clangs here and there. When Hagrid slid the first six fat, juicy slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little, his feet shuffling. He looked longingly at the sausages, his loud grumbling of his stomach accompanying them. "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley." Uncle Vernon said sharply, his fat hand firmly on Dudley's arm.

The giant chuckled darkly, making his mane of hair shake wildly. " Yet great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursleys, don't worry"

Then, he turned to me and passed the sausages, gesturing with his hands to eat. It was delicious, juicy and I hadn't had anything tasty, in a long time, but I didn't take my eyes off Hagrid. The Dursleys, or more Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, but they seemed to know who and why he exactly was here. In the middle of a storm the whole 'Keeper of keys and grounds of Hog warts' - whatever that was, didn't really explain the whole thing.

"I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but, I still don't really know who you are." Hagrid looked like a giant, or a half giant by his size. But I was sure he was some sort of half-blood as he didn't look anything like the Giants, sons of the primordial goddess Gaia and the primordial god Tartarus.

The said giant took a gulp of his tea from on of the chipped mugs from his pockets and wiped his mouth with the back of his hands. "Call me Hagrid," he said gruffly. "Everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Key at Hogwarts – yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.

Hog warts all over again. I sighed. "Yeah, about that, what is this Hogwarts Thing? Cause I have _no idea_ what that is."

Hagrid looked shocked, like his black eyes were wide and his mouth formed a perfect large 'O'.

"Err… Sorry?" But it came out like a question, than a apology. Then again, what was I apologising for exactly? Shocking a giant?

"Sorry?" Hagrid bark, like a wild dog and whirled around to face the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows, fear etched on their faces. "It's them who should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't getti' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, her cryin' out loud! Yeh never wonder where yer parent learned it all?" The Dursleys _did _know something.

"All what? I asked scrunching up my face in confusion. All what? The weirdness? The UnDursleish stuff?

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!" He leaped to his feet, and his anger seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this girl - this girl! - knows nothin' abou'- about ANYTHING?"

I personally thought it was a bit offending. Not knowing about anything? That was just plain rude. But I had a gut feeling that I should interrupt this angry giant and the anything part didn't sound like they were talking about the usual things I learnt in school.

"What anything exactly?" I wondered, as Hagrid waved his hands like I was joking and said dismissively. "About our world, I mean. Your world. My World. Yer parents' world."

"What world?" Maybe the myths were true after all? Or maybe there was another hidden world, which my parents belonged in?

Hagrid now looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEYS!" He boomed, shaking the small shack like he had done before, when he was knocking on the door.

Uncle Vernon, who now looked as pale as a vampire, whispered something that sounded like 'Mimblewimble'. Whatever that was.

Hagrid fixed me with a wild, desperate look.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean they're famous. You're famous."

"What? My parents were famous?" the conversation was getting weirder and weirder by the second.

"Yeh don't know… yeh don't know…" Hagrid ran his fingers though his hair, staring at me with bewildered eyes.

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

I blinked. I didn't know who I was? I was human wasn't I?

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. "Stop!" he commanded. Ahem, tried to sound commanding. "Stop right there, mister! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

I narrowed my eyes at him, annoyed.

Any braver man than Vernon Dursley would have trembled under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left her here? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursleys! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" I pursed my lips.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Yeah like that helped.

Aunt Petunia gave a comical gasp of horror, her face pale and shaking.

"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Andy - yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"A witch?" I asked my eyes still narrowed. People didn't just go around and say, "hey, guess what? You are a witch!" That was plain rude and offensive.

"A witch, o' course," said Hagrid sitting back down on the sofa which groaned and sank even lower. It was a miracle it didn't break yet." A thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon its abou' tiem yeh read yer letter."

Hagrid reached into his many pockets and pulled out the familiar thick yellowish envelope and held it out to me.

I stretched out and grabbed the letter. Being called a witch was one thing, but I was curious. After all, the letter had come all the way to here, just for me to read it.

On the envelope was the familiar emerald address, to Miss A. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-rock, the Sea. How nice, they even knew where I was – yeah, it didn't sound _stalkerish_ at _all_.

I thumed the wax seal and pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

(Maybe they were children on Hecate?)

Headmaster: _ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear _Miss Potter,_

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at _Hogwarts School_ _of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

_Minerva McGonagall,_

Deputy Headmistress

I stared at the letter. Questions exploded inside my head like fireworks. I took a death breath. Okay, first things first. At least I knew what Hogwarts was. I turned to Hagrid. "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," Hagrid clapped a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse and from yet another pocket inside is coat, he pulled an owl - a real, live and rather ruffled looking owl- a long feather quill, and a roll of parchment. I stared at the owl, my lips pursed. This owl was in Hagrid's coat for… how long? That was just sad. Owls had always had some sort of special link, not as strong as sea animals and horses, but I always liked them.

With his tongue between his teeth, Hagrid scribbled a note that I could read upside down as:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Given Harry his letter._

_Taking him to buy his things tomorrow._

_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well._

_Hagrid_

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the ruffled brown owl, which it in its beak, went to the old wooden door and threw the owl outside into the storm. I watched in horror as he came back and sat down again, as if this was as normal as taking on phones.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced, but looking angry, stepped up.

"She'd not going," he said gruffly, his hands curled into fists at his side.

Hagrid grunted. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop her,"

"A what?" I asked. Muggle. I've never heard of that word before. Mortal? Yes. Mundane? Yes. Muggle? No.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folks like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

Uncle Vernon was now beet red. "We swore when we took her in, we'd put a stop to that rubbish!" my eyes narrowed once again. "Swore we'd stamp it out of him! Witch indeed!"

I folded my arms. "You knew that I was a witch. And you've never told me." I felt the familiar tugging in my stomach. Outside, the waves got stronger. Crashing wildly against each other and the storm got worse, loud fat drops crashing down onto the roof of the hut. The rock started shaking, like a miniature earthquake in the middle of the sea.

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was - a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had wanted to say all this for years. But my anger didn't calm at the insults she was throwing at my mother.

Aunt Petunia didn't seem to notice the rock shaking, or the storm. "Then she met that _Potter_ at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as - as - abnormal -and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

I took a death breath. So my parent_ didn't_ die in a car crash.

"Blown up? Of course, all of the car- crash shit was all lies weren't they? Just to… oh yeah? What's the word, 'Stamp out the rubbish!" I said mockingly. I didn't care if I had just cursed out loud. I was too angry to care.

"CAR CRASH!" Roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily, that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner, their courage and bravery all gone and faded out.

"How could a CAR CRASH kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Andromeda Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

Okay, the car crash didn't kill my parents. Got that. But then, what did? Did they 'blow up' like Aunt Petunia had said?! "What happen to my parents?" I asked.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face and he looked anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble getting' hold you yeh, how much yeh didn't know." He sighed and rubbed his beard. "A h, Andy, I don't know if I'm the right person to tell yeh- but someone's gotta tell yer – Yer can't got off to Hogwarts not knowin' "

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, its best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh- mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…" He sat down, stared into the fire for a few minutes with a solemn expression.

"It begins, I suppose, with – with a person called – but its incredible yeh dint know his name, everyone in our world knows-"

"Who?"

"Well – I don't like sayin' the name if I cant help it. No one does."

"Why not? Cause you sound like the person is gone." _But… names have power right?! _It was so confusing.

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Andy, people are still scared. Bilemy, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went…" Hagrid trailed off.

"Bad?" I guessed. In every story or myths, there was always an evil guy who went evil and betrayed people. Who says all stories aren't true?

Hagrid nodded. "Bad. As bad as anyone could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was … …"

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you... Maybe write it down?" I suggested. It looked pretty hard for Hagrid to day it.

"Nah- can't spell it. All right – Voldemort."

Voldemort… I wasn't the one to be fluent on French, but I knew it was something along the lines of 'Flight of death' or 'Flight from Death.' _Perfect_ name for a dark wizard.

Hagrid shuddered. "Don't make me say it again. Anyway, this- this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark Days Andy. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare het friendly with strange wizards or witched… terrible things happened. H was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him – an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safest places left was Hogwarts. Beckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway." He took a deep breath

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side."

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' - an' -"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad - knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find - anyway..."

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then - an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing - he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a Powerful, evil curse touches yeh - took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even - but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Andy. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age - the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts - an' you was only a baby girl, an' you lived."

I winced as my head throbbed painfully. To be specific, my scar, the place Voldemort tried to kill me, with a curse. I closed my eyes, as images started to flow into my mind. I saw a blinding flash of vibrant emerald light, more clearly than I had ever remembered before, like Hagrid's story was triggering a hidden and forgotten memory. And for the first time, I saw a pair of red eyes. Not any red, but a flash of bright red, the colour of fresh blood. Along with a high, cold, cruel and merciless laugh.

Hagrid was watching me sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon, and I jumped. I had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have gotten back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fist were clenched again.

"Now, you listen here, girl, "he snarled at me. "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating would have cured - and as for all this about your parent, well,m they were weirdos, no denying it, and the worlds better off withut them… …"

The tugging in my stomach returned. And I heard a wave of water. I was too angry to be bothered to stop it. I barely noticed Hagrid leaping from the sofa and draw a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat.

"– always knew they'd come to a sticky end-" That was it. The last straw.

I watched triumph as a thick and powerful snake of sea water came through the cracks and wrapped itself around Uncle Vernon's body, effectively shutting up.

Hagrid looked proud at my work on Uncle Vernon. "I'm warning you, Dursley - I'm warning you – one more word…"

In danger of being either speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant or being strangled to death by a little old me with my water snake, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself – or as much as he can – against the wall and felt silent. I let the snake uncurl itself from Uncel Vernon and the snake slithered back to me, curling its watery body next to me, its head on my lap.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back don on the sofa, which this time, sagged right down to the floor. He smiled at me. "Yeh see that? That was impressive magic, even mos' of the greatest wizards can't do that."-

But I still had millions of questions swirling in my mind like a wild whirlpool.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them. One stuck out in my mind. "But what happened to Vol – sorry – I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... he was gettin' more an' more powerful - why'd he go?"

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don~ reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Andy. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on - I dunno what it was, no one does - but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at me with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but instead of feeling pleased and proud, I felt… …. I don't know _weird._ I didn't do whatever every other wizards out there thought I did. I was just _there,_ when Voldemort tried to kill my parents. I wasn't the girl-who-lived. I was just…az

"Hagrid," I said, stroking the head of my water snake. "Are you sure I am a witch? I mean, yeah I have that difference and magic but… its different, more channelled into water."

Hagrid chuckled, oblivious to my point. It wasn't natural that one wizard's magic was stronger and more channelled to one element.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

I stared at the snake. Hagrid,_ did_ have a point. Every odd thing that I had ever made my aunt and uncle furious with me happened when I was upset ir angry. Chased by Dudley's gang, I was faster than normal, and was always out of their reach… getting my hair to grow back to normal… and I had got my revenge on Dudley though I had to pay a price, without actually realising it. Didn't I set a boa Constrictor on him on his birthday?

I looked back at the snake that was curled around my waist and back at Hagrid, who was positively beaming. "I guess so."

"See?" said Hagrid. "Andromeda Potter, not a witch – you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon surely wasn't going to give in without a fight because he stepped up from the shadows. "Haven't I told you that she's NOT going?" he hissed. My water snake hiss back at him. "He's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish – spell books and wands and – "

"If she wasn't ter go, a Muggle like you won't stop her." Growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born! Been down since Lily had her in her stomach! She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sorts, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumble- "

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" Uncle Vernon yelled, cutting Hagrid's rant off.

But, he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head. "NEVER" He thundered. "INSULT-ALBUS-DUMBLEDORE-IN-FRONT-OF-ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley – there was a flash of violet light, and a sound of firecrackers, a sharp squeal of a pig and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, I saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers. I laughed, squealing and snorting, with tears streaming down my face. I hadn't laugh properly in a long time and a pig's tail just suited Dudley's fat butt so amazingly.

Uncle Vernon roared, both terrified and angry. Pulling shrieking Aunt Petunia and panicking Dudley into the other room, he gave on last nasty and terrified look and slammed the door loudly.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard. "Shouldn'ta lost my temper," he said ruefully. ""But it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was som much like a pig anyway ther wasn't much left ter do"

He looked sideways at me under bushy eyebrows. I was wiping tears from my face, with my hand, still snickering.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't, mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm – err – not supposed ter do magic, strictly speaking'. I was slowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff – one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Whay arent yoy supposed to do magic?" I asked, curious

"Oh, well - I was at Hogwarts meself but I –er – got expelled, ter tell yer the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore." He clutched tightly on his pink umbrella.

"Why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly, probably to avoid the subject. Talking about himself getting expelled wasn't the nicest conversation you could have. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it, landing in my lap in result. I raised a brow. What am I supposed to do with it?

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets." And he settled down himself on the sofa and fell asleep, snoring a second later.

I yawned and stretched out, putting Hagrid's coat over to keep warm, with the water snake curled up around my torso.

Today was the best birthday I had, in eleven years. Getting the ring, the letter to Hogwarts, meeting Hagrid and the best of all? I wasn't the only one who was unnatural and strange. It wasn't strange at all. After all, it was_ magic_.

* * *

><p>Chapter Three all done!<p>

Sorry for the confusion. The story I had published,got deleated for some reason i dont know, so Im staring again! Defianltly not giving up in this one!

Andy knows about Hogwarts now!

Review please:)

Random Book Quote:

_The ones that loves us **never** really leave us. You can always find them... in here_ - _Sirius Black - Harry Potter_

_Love, Magic and Demigods, _

Catarina Persephone


	9. Answers and News

Hello People!

I'm really sorry for not updating the story for a long time, but my life has been hectic for a few weeks.

Guess What?

I'm moving to L.A!

So, I will not be updating until... February or January... or if things go bad, March:(

Sad, I know, But I will still be working on this story.

Love, Magic and Demigods,

Catarina Persephone

P.S: I know it is against the rules to post an author's note, but it had to be done. Don't hate me!

P.S: Please Vote on my new poll ; What should be the name of Ginny's twin brother?

1. Gabriel

2. Giovanni

4. Godric (named after Godric Gryffindor obviously)

5. Other.

Thanx :)

_Answers:_

_**Isali:**_

Andy will be going to camp when she is 12, after the chamber of secrets.

She will meet Percy when she is sent to Camp Half blood.

She will meet Jason when she is 13, in the middle of the golden fleece/sea of monsters quest. She will be officially meeting Jason when she goes to Camp Jupiter. I am planning on a story set after the Sea of monsters name 'Son of Jupiter'. Basically Her and Jason in Camp Jupiter.

She will be dating Jason, when she is 16, after they were raised as praetors, after the war. But she will go to the yule ball with him.

**_Isali:_**

Andy will be older than percy because Andy's birthday is the 31st of July and Percy's is 18th of August. Adny is older by 18 days.


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